


all was golden when the day met the night

by spinningincircles



Series: all was golden in the sky [1]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Introspection, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Soft Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25618747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinningincircles/pseuds/spinningincircles
Summary: Eddie’s bad at words.He can talk, of course, will happily go on for hours about how great Christopher’s latest art project is, can give a sermon about the Rangers’ chances of winning the World Series. But when it comes to discussing what’s happening in his brain, the gloomy, sticky parts that follow him around and keep him awake, he clams up.Eddie’s bad at words, but he’s good at flowers.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: all was golden in the sky [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898266
Comments: 96
Kudos: 413





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elisela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/gifts).



> the flower shop/tattoo parlor au that i desperately wanted so i wrote it myself
> 
> for eli, who has been patiently(ish) waiting for months. she's spitballed headcanons, yelled at me to write, threatened me (with love) when things got dicey, and has overall been the best cheerleader a girl could ask for. the flower shop is for EVERYONE but yes, eli, it's especially for you <3
> 
> title from "when the day met the night" by panic! at the disco

Eddie’s bad at words. 

He can talk, of course, will happily go on for hours about how great Christopher’s latest art project is, can give a sermon about the Rangers’ chances of winning the World Series. But when it comes to discussing what’s happening in his brain, the gloomy, sticky parts that follow him around and keep him awake, he clams up. Keeps them locked in because it’s easier than exposing to anyone just how gross it all is, how dark everything is, how dark  _ he  _ is. He  _ wants  _ to talk about things, he does. Wants to make sure Chris knows that he  _ should  _ talk about his feelings, especially the bad ones. And he does his best to be open with him as well, but he’s the only one he seems to be able to do that with. Anyone else — his parents, Abuela, Shannon — he just...can’t. He’d rather save them the trouble.

Eddie’s bad at words, but he’s good at flowers.

He partially blames Abuela for making him spend hours with her in her garden when he was a kid. She taught him different planting methods, how to cut the flowers so they stayed alive longer, and a few basic meanings she learned from  _ Good Housekeeping _ . After his first tour, they didn’t have the money for him to even try and get into med school, so he got a job at a local flower shop to help with their landscaping team. The owner, Mrs. Negrelli, saw he was better with the roses than the mulch and took him under her wing, teaching him everything she knew. When she retired shortly after Shannon left, she handed him a check with a lot of zeros and said, “It’s time to go plant your own seeds.”

So he did. The Greenhouse has been up and running for just over a year, and it may very well be the best year Eddie’s had in a long time. They’re in a small plaza just outside of LA proper, with an apartment above the shop that makes early morning deliveries much less horrible. Chris is doing great in school (“very popular and excellent in all subject areas”, according to his homeroom teacher) and he’s made some good friends with the other local business owners. It’s the peaceful, quiet life he always dreamed of having when he finally got out of the Army.

Peaceful except for—

“Morning, Diazes!”

“Dad! Buck’s here!”

Eddie pokes his head through the doorway from the back room in time to see his son crash into his friend’s legs, Buck scooping him up and throwing him over his shoulder. Chris laughs loudly, echoing through the whole shop, and starts talking animatedly about his latest drawing when Buck sets him on the counter. He listens intently, throwing a wink towards Eddie when he catches him lingering a few feet away.

As usual, Eddie has to school his face into something other than heart eyes as he watches the two chat. Buck’s in his standard uniform of ripped black jeans that hug his thighs in all the right places and a t-shirt featuring some grungy rock band he’s never heard of. He’s a stark contrast against the rows of hyacinths and magnolias currently on the wall, and Eddie feels a blush rise on his cheeks as he tries (and fails) to stop staring.

When he first met Buck, he was pretty sure he was getting robbed. When a six foot whatever stranger in all black and combat boots and covered in tattoos comes barreling into your newly opened flower shop, that’s kind of the first place your mind goes. He had 9 and 1 dialed on his phone before the stranger ran up to the counter and frantically asked, “What kind of flowers can I buy to apologize to my very intimidating adoptive mother for sideswiping her brand new car?”

Eddie figured an actual criminal would have bigger problems to worry about than his mom’s Nissan.

They formally met the next day, when Buck came to thank him for the bouquet (a small arrangement of broom for humility and common rue for regret; all the yellow tended to make people happier and more likely to forgive you for being a dumbass). He told Eddie he could come by the shop anytime for a tattoo, on the house.

He’d been in Armageddon Tattoo when he was first looking for a space, had met Maddie, the co-owner, and Chimney, their head artist. If he had known the other co-owner looked like Buck, he would have signed the lease much faster. Faster still once he saw how quickly and easily he and Chris got along.

A year on and Buck’s in the shop almost every day, either to buy a bouquet or to give Chris tips on a drawing or to complain about an annoying customer who changed their mind about a design after it was halfway done.

For all the peace that Eddie’s found, Buck is the one chaotic spot that keeps his reflexes in check. He’s a microburst, a runaway firework, an ATV rolling through a field of wildflowers. He blasts his music as he drives in in the mornings, and he opens doors so hard they almost fall off their hinges.

Eddie is painfully, unbearably in love with him.

Which is funny, really, because his whole life, Eddie has always been “the good guy” or “the good son” or “the good soldier”. He was homecoming king, set multiple records on courses in Basic, and became Staff Sergeant quicker than any of his superiors had seen in years. He was always by the book, always tried to be the best, and he usually  _ was  _ the best. 

Until he wasn’t. Until his brain was so full of sadness and horrors that it was a battle to get out of bed each day. Until he was missing so much of Chris’s life that he might as well not have been in his life at all.

Until he wasn’t enough.

His marriage crumbled from there. He knew any path he and Shannon tried to take to move forward would be foggy with the guilt of all he hadn’t done in the past to help their family, so when she left, he didn’t go after her. And that guilt — knowing that he could have fixed it if he tried, if he had just been  _ better _ — follows him wherever he goes now. He second guesses himself with Chris all the time because he knows one wrong move will lead to whispers among the PTA moms about the single dad who isn’t doing it right. He almost withdrew his lease application for the shop four times because he was constantly worried that it wouldn’t work, that he’d invest all this money and time and effort and it wouldn’t matter. He had done things by the book for so long because that was supposed to be how he succeeded. But now the books are empty and he’s in free fall, hoping he finds a soft landing before splatting on the asphalt.

When he met Buck, the complete antithesis to doing anything “by the book”, a voice whispered in his head  _ that’s your landing _ . He’s the opposite of everything Eddie knew how to be, and that was thrilling to see. Freeing. To see someone living a happy life by making their own way and not giving a shit what anyone else thought. Not to mention that he was gorgeous, a gentle soul armored in chains and ink, and so unabashedly himself that he drew everyone to him like a magnet.

So Eddie fell, hard but quietly. Because on top of all that, Buck is the best friend he’s made since moving to LA, and he’ll be damned if he screws that up for himself or for Chris.

He finally gets himself moving to the counter, pulled by that damn magnet, where Buck is now showing Chris his latest tattoo — a small skull with a string of roses weaving in and out of the eye sockets and mouth on his right bicep.

“Does it mean anything?” Chris asks, running a small finger over it, taking in the detail.

“Chim says so, went on and on about how it symbolizes life after death and blah blah blah. I just thought it looked cool.”

“Peach blossoms would have been better.” Eddie mutters absently, eyes glued to Buck’s arm and the pale skin under the ink. He blinks as his words register, meeting Buck’s eyes and internally wincing. Thankfully, Buck just looks amused, not mad. “They’re a sign of longevity and immortality in some Eastern cultures. Would’ve fit the life after death idea a little better.”

“See, this is why I need you and your flower wisdom on retainer at the shop. You’d save me a lot of time researching, and our stuff would be even cooler because it would make  _ sense _ .” He leans down to stage-whisper to Chris. “Between you and me, I think roses are the only flowers Chim knows how to do anyway.” Chris giggles, and Eddie huffs out a laugh too. 

“Any real flowers today, Buck?” Eddie asks. He grabs the craft paper, already knowing the answer.

“Of course! Whatever feels right to you.”

Buck gets a bouquet for the shop about once a week, claims they’re good for inspiration and help some of the more nervous clients relax among the black leather chairs and tattoo guns. Sometimes he has very specific requests (“I just want orange. Like so much orange you could die.” or “Someone asked for tulips on their arm, can I get those in every color so I can practice?”), other times he tells Eddie to put together “whatever feels right”. At first, Eddie never put too much thought into those, just used whatever he was running low on and still looked okay together. But one day, one particularly dark day, when all Eddie was doing was  _ feeling _ , he took Buck’s words to heart. It was a pretty morbid bouquet — cypress for despair, peonies for the anger that never seemed to leave him, vervain as a plea to whoever was listening to protect him from the evils of his own mind. His internal mess must have been written all over his face too, because when he handed the flowers to Buck, he just looked at him for a while, like he could feel the sadness that Eddie had physically given him, like he knew the weight of what he was holding, even though Eddie knew he didn’t really. When he said thank you, it was more sincere than usual, laced with something like empathy that Eddie wasn’t ready to look at too closely.

Buck kept those flowers alive for three weeks, said he just couldn’t bear to let them go.

Luckily for everyone, Eddie is in a much less terrible place this week. With his son’s laughter still floating in his mind, he puts together crocuses and daisies, youthful joy and innocence, and ties them together with a dark blue ribbon, Chris’s favorite color. He wraps them in paper and hands them to Buck, who beams as he helps Chris down from the counter.

“Oh, these are  _ beautiful _ . Almost as beautiful as the man who arranged them.” Eddie feels his cheeks get red and sees Buck’s smile turn smug. “How much do I owe for this masterpiece?”

“Please, you haven’t paid for anything here in months.” Eddie stopped charging while he was only using almost bad flowers, and told Buck as much. He just didn’t tell him when he started using the good stuff.

“I know, but I’m a gentleman, I always have to try. Remember that when you’re older, buddy.”

“I will.” Chris replies. “Dad, we’re gonna be late for school.”

“Okay okay, go grab your backpack.” Chris heads towards the back room as Buck heads towards the front door.

“Well, I’m off to stab people with needles for fun. See you later, boys! Bye Hen!”

Eddie whips his head around and sure enough, there’s Hen, leaning on the far side of the counter, looking far too smug for Eddie’s liking.

“When did you get here?”

“My shift started 20 minutes ago, boss. Glad I got here in time for the show.”

“The show?”

“Yeah, the show. You really should get an Oscar or something for how hard you act like you’re not head over heels for that man.”

Eddie’s jaw drops and Hen cackles. He doesn’t even have time to explain himself before Chris returns with his backpack and starts shoving Eddie towards the door.

“Don’t worry,” Hen calls as she opens the register for the day, “at least you’re cute when you blush!”

Eddie pointedly ignores Chris’s questioning look as he drives, his face and neck still blazing.

He can only hope Buck is less perceptive than Hen. If not, they’re going to have to move cities. Maybe countries. Maybe to the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just because i spent 20 minutes looking for it instead of writing, [this](https://store.coheedandcambria.com/good-eye-sniper-unisex-t-shirt-5.html) is the shirt buck is wearing when he first comes to the store
> 
> this will update every thursday, so come yell at me on [tumblr](https://tylerhunklin.tumblr.com/) while you wait!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: description of a nightmare from eddie's time in afghanistan**

The bell above the door to Armageddon dings as Eddie steps inside, met with the blast of air conditioning and loud music (he recognizes the band, it’s one Buck has played for him before. 10 Years Sturdy? Something like that.). He’s exhausted after a day of back-to-back-to-back deliveries, including two weddings, some kind of charity gala, and a funeral. He does arrangements for funerals often enough, but he still can’t get over the way his stomach turns every time he walks into a funeral home. The memories of being in one, after his last tour especially, mourning his brothers and sisters in arms never leave him alone. They coil around his brain, reminding him that they would be here if he had saved them, if he had been a better leader, a better soldier.

So he’s physically _and_ emotionally exhausted, and all he wants to do is pick up Chris, go home, shower, and sleep for 48 hours. It’s only Wednesday, and he does have work in the morning, but the thought is still nice.

He heads towards the back room, waving at Chimney who gives him a salute back, not looking up from whatever he’s doing on his client’s calf. The guy hisses in pain, and Eddie snorts as Chim rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

As he enters the back office/lounge, he sees Chris and Buck hunched over the table against the side wall, heads leaning together, the surface covered in discarded sketches and crumpled drawings deemed too terrible to save. He sees them like this more often than not, whether in this room or The Greenhouse’s back room or his kitchen table, but it never fails to settle something in him. It’s been Chris and him against the world for so long, it’s nice to have another person in their corner, someone they can rely on. Not to mention, Chris has been Buck’s shadow pretty much from the word go, and Buck always seems genuinely happy to hang out with him. The day they met, Chris spent almost a full hour asking Buck about every tattoo he could see, Buck patiently explaining each one in as much detail as he could give an eight year old. When he offered to show him some of his paper drawings and give him some pointers on his own, Chris had looked at him like he couldn’t quite believe he was real, like he had just offered to draw him a new constellation in the night sky.

Like father, like son.

“He really loves that kid.” Eddie turns towards the soft voice behind him, sees Maddie with a small smile on her face. “I think he likes having someone to teach that doesn’t talk back as much as Chim and me.”

Eddie smiles as he looks back, sees Buck offer a hand for a high five before ruffling Chris’s hair affectionately. “He’s an easy kid to love, that’s for sure.”

“Dad! Come look, Buck taught me how to draw snakes!”

Eddie walks over to the table, peers down at pages of cartoon snakes in various positions. He can see the progression of Chris’s practicing on the pages, going from shaky and unsure to something more realistic as Buck guided him.

“You were halfway there dude, you just needed some help with the movement,” Buck says as Chris preens.

“These look great, buddy. Can you stick them in your backpack so we can get going?”

Chris gathers up his good drawings, pushing the rest of them into the trash can under the table. He picks up his crutches and makes his way to the other side of the room to his backpack and coat.

“Thanks again for watching him, I really thought we’d be done with deliveries by the time school was over,” Eddie says. Buck just shakes his head, a smile similar to Maddie’s on his face as he watches Chris.

“It’s never a problem, Chris is awesome. He offered to hold a girl’s hand that Maddie was working on because it was her first tattoo and she was scared. And then I got to draw with him! That’s definitely a win for me.” Buck looks back at him, and Eddie feels the warm glow of his smile try to sink into his chest. It would’ve, too, if he wasn’t still on edge from his visit to the funeral home. He can feel that his returning smile doesn’t meet his eyes, and Buck looks at him for a moment before setting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie tries his best not to melt at the touch, but feeling the heat through his shirt doesn’t make it easy. “Hey, you good?” Buck asks quietly. “He can keep hanging here for a while if you need some alone time.”

Buck doesn’t know everything. He knows Eddie did two tours, and Eddie had let him draw his own conclusions on how that may have affected him. Whatever Buck thought, he didn’t know the truth, didn’t know the poison sloshing around in his soul, the constant reminder of the light he left behind in Afghanistan and the blackness he brought back instead. And Eddie will do everything he can to keep Buck in the dark, to make sure he never sees those ugly parts of him that even Eddie can’t fully face.

But _god_ does he make it hard. When he looks at him like this, earnest and open, like he can see right through Eddie, all he wants to do is break. Let the poison come spilling out because he knows Buck will help him clean it all up and get rid of it, maybe for good. But he’ll get burned in the process too, and Eddie refuses to let that happen.

So he just shakes his head, forces his smile to a normal size, pats Buck’s arm that’s still holding onto him. “I’m alright man, but thanks. We’ll see you tomorrow, say goodnight Chris.”

“Bye Buck! Thank you!” Chris wraps his arms around Buck’s middle, while Buck bends in half to squeeze back. 

They leave with a wave, say their goodbyes to Chim and Maddie too as they walk out the door. Chris doesn’t stop talking about his afternoon with Buck until he’s tucked into bed. As Eddie goes to bed himself, he tries not to think about a warm body with blonde curls and legs for days taking up the spot next to him, wrapping him in his arms, keeping him safe from the monsters that wait for him in the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~

His brain doesn’t really care what he does or doesn’t want to think about, it seems. 

The dream starts as it often does: he’s in the desert, hiding from enemy fire behind the wreckage of his helicopter, surrounded by the corpses of comrades that he couldn’t save. The others, still alive, are looking at him, outraged and not fighting back, like they already know he’s led them to their deaths. Bullets ricochet off the metal, and one by one the bodies fall, blood spilling out of them, flowing towards him. He’s surrounded by noise and heat and death, and the blood keeps coming, soaking into his boots, staining his skin. He drops his weapon, knowing there’s no use in fighting back. He waits for the inevitable bursts of pain when the bullets finally get him, but after that, he knows it’ll be nothing but blissful, all encompassing silence.

Except this time, when he falls into the darkness that usually wakes him up, he’s not alone. He catches glimpses of sky blue eyes, a lopsided grin, a birthmark that looks like a kiss from the heavens. He sees skin covered in intricate patterns and designs, the ink coming to life as he reaches out to touch. He can’t quite reach it, but it doesn’t matter because he feels _safe_ . Protected. This presence, this warmth that’s surrounding him, makes him feel centered in a way that he hasn’t since...he can’t remember when. And he can’t do anything but sink into it, wrap himself up and burrow into it like he knows he won’t allow himself the same luxury when the sun comes up. It feels like home, like salvation. Like the thing Eddie’s been needing to make him feel _right_ again.

So he takes. He knows it’s just a dream, so he takes and he takes, and he doesn’t feel bad. 

When he wakes with a start, hands twisted in his sheets, he desperately tries to hold onto as much detail as he can, but it’s all slipping away as he becomes more and more conscious. Some things stay — the eyes, the smile. The overwhelming warmth. And there’s an ache, too. A longing, physical ache that still lingers in his chest even now that he’s awake.

He tries to breathe through it, but then he remembers whose eyes those are, and it pulls him under all over again.

“Shit,” he whispers into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ache is still there as he opens the shop the next day, dull but ever present. He’s pretty self aware, so the depth of his feelings for Buck isn’t news, but he really thought he’d have gotten over it by now. He thought Buck would have stopped in one day to get flowers for someone that wasn’t Eddie, and Eddie would have been crushed, but he’d have been able to start the process of moving on. 

But Buck hasn’t done that. He’s gone on dates, but no more than one or two, always claiming they “just weren’t right for each other.” And Eddie’s dumb heart fluttered every time he said that, and his feelings kept growing and growing, and _now_ they’re physically hurting him and haunting his dreams.

He’s so, so screwed.

The bell above the door dings, and of course it’s Buck, the one time Eddie doesn’t actually want to talk to him. Eddie feels the ache grow, feels it pushing at his ribs, but there’s also that warmth and sense of safety from his dream. That feeling he always gets around Buck, no matter what. It’s hot and cold at the same time, and he can’t even begin to figure out how to process that.

“You know, if you keep glaring like that, you’re gonna scare off your customers. Your smile is a much nicer greeting in the morning.”

Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes, not fighting said smile that spreads on his face. It’s almost scary how easily Buck can get him to relax. “Says the man with the leather jacket and a nose ring.”

“Hey, I have a very sunny disposition, even if the clothes don’t match. Plus nose rings are cool, not scary.”

“Whatever you say. Here for your flowers?”

Buck smiles brightly, and there goes Eddie’s heart again. “Yep. Whatever you’re feeling.”

Eddie reaches towards the cases of flowers and pauses, because the only thing he’s feeling is how much he wants to grab Buck by the collar and kiss him until they can’t breathe. How much he wants to wake up next to him, cook breakfast with him, make a _life_ with him. How he’s the first person he’s even thought about showing his darkest parts to because he’s getting tired of carrying them all by himself, and he trusts Buck intrinsically to shine his light on them and start to make them better. Start to make Eddie better in the process.

He cannot, however, say any of that out loud. So he settles for the next best thing.

Aster, gardenia, and pink camellia. Trust, love and longing. It’s unbelievably on the nose, but as he hands the bouquet to Buck, he feels a little lighter. Not like he’s getting over it, but like the pressure of holding it all in has been released just enough that Eddie doesn’t feel like he’s drowning. When Buck waves goodbye, he smiles a little easier, because he _did_ tell Buck, in his own way, and he didn’t have to subject him to any of his mess to do so. 

So maybe this is fine. Maybe he can handle these one-sided love declarations that only he understands. Maybe, _maybe_ , he can make this work, until his heart decides it’s had its fill and starts to move on. 

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s definitely not working. 

Because rather than working it out and moving on like he thought he would, rather than feeling the relief he felt the first time, he just wants _more_. With every mallow, moonflower, and red tulip he hands over to Buck, he wants to let him know exactly what they mean, exactly how Eddie feels about him.

But anytime he even entertains the idea of coming clean, that little voice in his head reminds him that it doesn’t matter because he’s not enough. If he tells Buck how he feels, he’ll just laugh in his face because even he knows that Eddie wouldn’t be able to give him everything he wants. No matter how supportive he may seem, Buck will take one look at the shredded bits of Eddie that he keeps locked away and leave, because no amount of goodness and light will ever be able to put them back together in a way that resembles someone worthy of that goodness.

Eddie’s never been able to ignore that voice, so he listens and keeps his mouth shut and keeps hoping that one day, he’ll give Buck a bouquet and all of his pent up feelings will just disappear along with it.

A month on, and that day still hasn’t come. It’s cool this morning, so Buck’s leaning over the counter in a hoodie and black beanie, shivering slightly, and Eddie wants to wrap his arms around him and warm him up himself. Or better yet, take him up to his apartment, wrap him in his comforter, and never let him leave.

They talk like normal, and Eddie’s glad he can keep this part up, that their friendship hasn’t suffered any outward damages just because he can’t get his shit together. Hen joins them while Eddie is wrapping Buck’s flowers, and pauses briefly when she sees what Eddie picked out — orange lily and marigold, desire and pain. A strange mix, but it’s exactly what Eddie’s feeling. He wants Buck so bad it’s starting to hurt.

Buck, thankfully, just smiles as Eddie hands the bouquet off. “These are perfect. Not quite as perfect as our friendly neighborhood florist, but they’re coming in at a close second.”

Eddie just shakes his head, blushing as always. Buck winks, waves to Hen, and steps out the door, letting in a hint of chill as he leaves.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Hen turns to Eddie, fixing him with a pointed look that almost makes him flinch.

“What?” he asks, straightening up the front counter just so he doesn’t have to look at her too long.

“I know what flowers mean too, you know, and I see the ones you keep giving to our favorite tattoo artist.”

Eddie breathes out hard through his nose, rests his head on the counter. It takes more willpower than he’d like to stop him from banging in on the hard surface a few times.

“You really should talk to him.”

He looks up at her, vaguely panicking at the thought. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

_Because his friendship means too much to me, and to Chris._

_Because I refuse to open myself up and drag him down to this hole with me._

_Because I’m not what he deserves, and I never will be._

“It’s complicated.”

Hen shakes her head, shrugs as she turns towards the back room. “All I’m saying is, he’s in here all the time, and flirts with you like it’s his job. I don’t think that’s all for nothing.”

She heads to the back, leaving Eddie to wallow. Maybe she’s right, maybe Buck does feel even a fraction of what Eddie feels, but that doesn’t change anything. Buck is still one of the best people he’s ever met, and Eddie is still full of unfixable darkness.

And he’s still so, so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you can figure out the band eddie hears at the beginning from my dumb joke, we'll be best friends forever
> 
> come yell at me on [tumblr](https://tylerhunklin.tumblr.com/)!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate chapter title: "who's thirstier for buck: eddie or the author?"

“...and then we saw the lions, but they were sleeping so they weren’t very scary. And the otters were so cute, and they came right up to the glass when they were swimming underwater!”

Eddie smiles as Chris recounts their day at the zoo to his parents over FaceTime. The monthly calls had been their idea, a way for them to stay up to date on Chris’s life in between holidays and summer visits. It was also their way of having a scheduled time to nitpick Eddie’s life from 800 miles away.

He loves his parents, he does. He just loves them more when they aren’t speaking.

“Your face looks a little red, sweetheart, were you wearing sunscreen today?” his mother asks, face getting too close to the camera as she inspects her grandson.

“Yeah, Dad put some on me when we got there.”

“Did he put on any more during the day?” Her eyes shifted to Eddie, perched next to Chris on the couch. “You know you need to reapply every two—”

“Yes, Mom, I did. And it’s getting late so we should really get going, say goodbye buddy—”

“Wait! I didn’t show them my snakes!” Chris rifles through his backpack underneath the coffee table, yanking out a folder and flipping through it until he finds the drawings he and Buck worked on. He holds them up triumphantly, angling them so his grandparents could see. “Buck helped me with them!”

“And Buck is…”

“Dad, you know who Buck is. My friend that owns the tattoo shop?” He tries not to ignore how calling Buck his “friend” feels like a disservice to all that he really is, how it tastes like sand in his mouth.

“He’s an awesome artist,” Chris pipes in. “He has huge books in the shop of all the stuff he can do, and sometimes he lets me watch when he’s working!”

His parents blanche at that, and Eddie is really not prepared to have this argument right now. He and Chris had a great day together, a rare day when he wasn’t in the shop for any reason, leaving it in Hen’s more than capable hands. They had a lot of fun at the zoo, were getting ready for a Marvel double feature in their living room, and Eddie was in an honest-to-god good mood, for once not plagued by lingering stress or ambiguous sadness. He’s not about to let any outside judgements ruin that.

“I think it’s time to go. Chris, can you say goodnight and go get your pajamas on?” Chris waves as he grabs his crutches and heads to his room. Eddie turns back to say a quick goodbye, but his dad clears his throat before he can speak.

“You leave your son alone in a tattoo parlor?”

“He’s not alone, Dad, he’s with Buck and all the other adults that work there. Plus it’s only in a pinch.”

“Eddie, do you really think those are the kind of people you should be leaving Christopher with?” his mother asks, a look of contempt masked by concern on her face.

Eddie takes a slow breath in and out through his nose. No use in giving them more ammo by getting angry. “Just because you don’t like their business doesn’t mean they’re bad people.”

“We just want to make sure Christopher is—”

“He’s _fine._ He’s happy when he’s learning to draw with Buck. I’m not going to take that away from him just because you don’t like it. Now we have to go, we’ll talk to you later.” He hits the red end button before they can protest any further. He tips his head back to rest on the couch and scrubs a hand over his face, his good mood now tinged with prickly frustration.

He thinks his parents mean well, but they’ve always been forceful when it comes to Chris, especially after Shannon left. It’s like they knew, somehow, how lost Eddie was on his own, how scared he was that every little thing he did was setting Chris up for failure, and took every opportunity to fix something he was doing or tell him he was wrong. That he didn’t actually know what Chris needed since he had been gone for so long. 

Eventually, Eddie started believing them.

But when Mrs. Negrelli gave him the money to start his own shop, he didn’t just see it as a fresh start for himself, but for Chris too. Eddie would be able to take them anywhere, away from the looming disappointment of his parents, and give himself the opportunity to figure out how to best be the dad that Chris needed. And if the past year is any indication, he knows he made the right choice, a credit he isn’t usually able to give himself. He’s not perfect, still second guesses himself constantly, but Chris gets invited to birthday parties and sleepovers and gets As on his report card, so something must be working.

Chris comes back from his room, Spider-Man pajamas on, handing Eddie the remote to queue up the first movie. He’s happily chattering about all the cool things Spider-Man’s costume does in the movie, and as he settles into Eddies’s side, head resting on his chest, Eddie feels the prickliness subside, replaced by the contentment he only ever feels around his son.

They’re good here. Chris is _happy_ here. That’s all that matters to Eddie.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sundays are Eddie’s favorite days in the shop — traffic is usually slow, so he has time to plan out orders for the rest of the week and make sure their inventory is in check. It’s a little monotonous, but it eats up about four hours of time and gives him a break from any real thinking, so he feels almost relaxed by the time he’s done stocking cases. He has the added bonus of Chris and Buck’s conversation in the back room as background noise, interspersed with the occasional yell and slap of the table and Buck teaches him a new card game. The melody of Chris’s laugh and the harmony of their voices soothes him even more than usual, quiets some of the lingering annoyance from his call with his parents.

As he heads into the back room to grab the last boxes of peonies, Chris beckons him over to the table where he and Buck have been stationed since breakfast. It’s become a bit of a tradition: Buck brings muffins or bagels from Bobby and Athena’s bakery on Sundays and hangs out until the afternoons when his earliest appointments are scheduled (I refuse to tattoo anyone while they’re hungover from Saturday, Eddie. It’s not good for them and the extra complaining is _certainly_ not good for me.). 

_Maybe_ that’s another reason Sundays are his favorite days. Add that to the list of secret feelings involving Buck that are following him to the grave.

“Dad! Look, I colored Buck’s skull purple!” Chris says as Eddie comes behind his chair, bracketing him in with his arms on the table. Chris giggles as Eddie kisses the top of his head, leaning over him for a closer look. Buck’s latest tattoo is indeed a bright shade of purple, the roses surrounding it colored in blue.

“I told him I like cooler colors and he ran with it,” Buck says. Eddie’s eyes shift to Buck’s face, and he feels his heart stutter when he sees the soft, fond smile directed at Chris. It stutters again when Buck’s eyes meet his, that familiar warmth settling over him as Buck’s smile gets bigger, and he feels good enough, relaxed enough, that it actually soaks into his skin. Buck’s gaze flits down to Eddie’s arm where it’s still bracketing Chris, a crease appearing right between his eyebrows. The urge to lean over and kiss it away is unbelievably sudden and strong, and Eddie silently congratulates himself for keeping it together.

“Your ink looks a little faded there, Eds. I can fix it up for you, if you want.”

Eddie looks at the script on his arm, twisting it back and forth to see the whole thing. Buck’s right, the ink does look duller. Makes sense for a tattoo he got on his 18th birthday that he definitely didn’t take care of properly. 

Fortalecer la mente y superar el cuerpo. Strengthen the mind and overcome the body. When he was young and invincible, that seemed like all he needed. A clear head, clear purpose, clear desires, and he’d be able to do anything he wanted. If he followed the rules and did everything right, he’d get a happy ending.

But, once again, it hadn’t been enough. And now, looking at that tattoo just reminds him of the ways he’s failed. How he hasn’t been able to make his mind into anything resembling strong, how there are days when he’s so weak even basic functions take too much effort. How a happy ending is feels so far away he can’t remember what one even looks like.

He shrugs, hand rubbing the tattoo unconsciously. “Maybe, I kinda just want to let this one fade out though. Maybe get a different one somewhere else.”

“Well, my offer of a free tattoo still stands, just name the day.” Buck says. 

Chris gasps and twists around in his seat, eyes bright with excitement. “Can I help you pick it out? Can I _draw_ it? I’m good at lots of stuff now, and Buck can help!”

And he’s not sure what it is — the smile on Chris’s face at the idea, Buck’s matching one, the lingering frustration with his parents transforming into rebellion (something he hasn’t felt since he last got a tattoo), or a combination of the three. But before he can think too hard about it, he hears himself saying:

“You know what? Why not. I’ll get another tattoo, and you guys can design it.”

They cheer and high five each other, Chris hugging Eddie tight around the middle.

“But,” Eddie says, “I do want final approval. And no cartoon characters.”

“I promise, Dad, it’ll be the best tattoo ever!” Chris grabs his nearby notebook and starts doodling, chattering happily about what he thinks will look good. Buck catches his eye again and winks, and Eddie’s returning smile is the easiest it’s ever been.

He grabs the boxes he came back for and goes to the front, still smiling as he hears Buck and Chris very seriously discuss the details of what Eddie should get. He’s not nervous, really, but he does say a silent prayer to whoever is listening that they don’t pick something too big or too bold. He loves them both, but not _that_ much.

~~~~~~~~~~

They take about a week to design it and are so secretive they might as well be planning a jewel heist. It seems like every time Eddie walks into a room, they’re there with their heads pressed together, whispering over sheets of paper and pens. When Eddie tries to sneak a peek, they quickly hide everything away so he can’t see. Buck throws his whole body on the table at one point just to cover up the sketches.

Again, he’s not nervous. But the anticipation does start to get to him.

Finally, after a busy Saturday full of wedding deliveries, they announce that the design is complete, and Eddie is scheduled at Armageddon the following Friday evening. Chris already has a sleepover with Denny that night and won’t be able to come, but he makes Eddie double pinky promise to send pictures to Hen as soon as it’s done. 

It’s Friday now, and Eddie is all set up at Buck’s station in the back of the shop, waiting to see the final product of Buck and Chris’s hard work. He _is_ a little nervous now, but he mostly blames that on Buck, who keeps looking over the sketchpad, pen in hand like he wants to make last minute changes, or like something isn’t quite right.

“Just show me, Buck,” Eddie says after a few minutes of watching Buck bite his lip in worry. Whatever the design is, he’s sure he’ll love it, if for no other reason than because of the two people who made it.

“Okay, okay. You can be honest if you don’t like it, but I think you’re gonna like it.”

He flips the paper over, turning it towards Eddie. It’s a crescent of flowers, an unfinished wreath, featuring moonflowers, Eddie’s favorite, with their starburst centers spiraling open, and ox-eye daisies, which he knows Chris loves. Sprigs of lavender and thyme fill in the gaps, and there’s a small bee floating around the center. It’s beautiful and a little chaotic, but it’s perfect. Reminders of his son and peace and courage that he’ll be able to carry with him always, that he’ll be able to look at when he forgets that he is capable of bravery or deserving of peace. He stares at the sketch, taking in every detail, for who knows how long. Buck clears his throat to get his attention.

“Chris thought the daisies and moonflowers would look good together, and they’re both white so no need for color. I thought the herbs would be nicer than just plain leaves. And he wanted it in a ‘C’ shape, you know, for Christopher.”

Eddie laughs and shakes his head. “And the bee?”

“Chris thought that would be cute, too, but you can nix that if you want.” There’s a faint blush dusting Buck’s cheeks as his eyes track down to the bee in question. “So, what do you think? Any major changes? You can tell me if you hate it, I won’t tell Chris.”

He looks up and Buck’s eyes are excited and worried all at once. Eddie would do anything to take the worry away, but at least this time it’s an easy fix.

“I don’t hate it, it’s perfect,” he says, handing the sketch back to Buck and settling back in the chair. “Let’s do this.”

Buck smiles brightly as he grabs an antiseptic wipe, holding Eddie’s right arm steady as he wipes down the area just below his elbow crease where the tattoo will go. Eddie knew he wanted it there as soon as he’d agreed to get one — he’d be able to see it easily when he needed to, and he liked that it matched the placement of his current one, would almost be replacing it if the words ever fully faded away. Once it’s cleaned, Buck puts a temporary transfer of the design there to trace over, starts up the tattoo machine, and loads the ink. The low buzzing of the machine mixes with the music playing and soft conversation coming from other clients in the shop, washing over Eddie like white noise.

Buck takes his arm again, machine in hand, and locks his eyes on Eddie. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“You can yell if it hurts too bad, just try not to pass out.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, says “It’ll be—” before cutting off with an involuntary hiss as the needle touches his skin. Buck snorts, and Eddie does his best to glare but feels it fall short.

He hadn’t worried about the pain — he vaguely remembered the sensation of being stabbed over and over again and didn’t remember it hurting that bad. He had also been shot before, so he figured he’d be able to handle it.

What he _hadn’t_ taken into account was that for the next two hours or so, he and Buck would be _very_ close together, close enough that Eddie can feel Buck’s breath on his arm as he traces over the outline, feels his strong hand on his wrist as he keeps Eddie from twitching. He had never been this close to Buck, had never allowed himself to be, and now that he is, he’s not sure how to act. He tries to look anywhere else, takes in the art on the wall, watches the other clients with Maddie and Chimney. He tries to make a to-do list for the weekend in his head, go over the things Chris will need for school next week, mentally figure out the designs for next week’s orders.

It’s all in vain, though, because no matter what, his eyes always drift back to Buck. From here, he can take in _everything_ , and for once, he lets himself, because who knows when he’ll have this opportunity again. 

Buck’s brow is furrowed in concentration, blue eyes dark as they focus. He can almost count every eyelash, and his birthmark stands out even more than usual, almost glowing under the fluorescent lights. Eddie itches to reach out and touch it, feel how soft he imagines Buck’s skin to be under his fingertips. His cheekbones and jawline are sharp and beautiful, and Eddie wonders again how anyone could resist them. How someone could look at this man, have even one conversation with him, and decide they didn’t want more. He’s biting his lip as he finishes the first moonflower, and it turns and even darker pink as he releases it. Eddie gets a little lost imagining how those lips would feel on his, how gentle and warm and _good._ He imagines feeling them on his shoulder as they wake up on a Saturday morning, sees them laughing as they both make breakfast, trading kisses as they go. He wants to taste them, feel them moving down his neck, down his chest, wrapping around his—

He inhales quickly and shakes his head, because this is not the time nor the place to go down _that_ particular road. Thankfully, Buck’s still in his own little world, eyes never leaving Eddie’s arm. He must mistake Eddie’s movement for discomfort, because he moves his free hand down from his wrist until they’re holding hands, Buck’s thumb moving slowly back and forth in comfort.

“You can squeeze if it hurts too bad,” he mutters, still not looking up. Thank god too, because Eddie can feel his face go bright red and his heart start working overtime.

The first pass takes about an hour, and they take a break so Eddie can stretch his legs and Buck can get more ink. There’s still some detailing left to do, but Eddie already can’t stop staring at the tattoo. It looks even better than the sketch, and having a tribute to his son literally branded on his skin fills a fiercely paternal part of him like nothing else ever has. There’s also a smug part that’s still 17 years old and can’t wait to see the looks on his parents’ faces when they have their next video call.

Buck finishes getting set up again and Eddie settles back in the chair. It’s quieter now — they’re the only two on the floor, Maddie and Chimney having finished up and moved to the back room, and the music playing over the speakers is something slower, stripped down, seems to filter into the room and soften all the hard edges of the world. Buck catches his eye from where he’s sitting, asking silent permission to start. Eddie nods, and he feels his heart swell when Buck automatically grabs his hand again. 

He’s got maybe 45 more minutes in this proximity to Buck, and he takes full advantage: notes the way his curls are starting to fall loose after a long day, tries to catalogue each shift of his face, every twitch of concentration, the shadow of his stubble growing in. Getting to study him like this — memorize the details of the beautiful face that houses an even more beautiful soul — makes all the feelings Eddie’s been trying to fight for months now bubble to the surface, fizzing inside of him like pop bubbles. 

But there’s a chill that settles in as well, because despite his heart desperately pulling him towards this man, he reminds himself once again that he can’t have this. He can’t _let_ himself have this, can’t do that to Buck. He’s supposed to be forgetting about his feelings, releasing them so they can both be happy — Buck with someone who deserves him and Eddie...alone. With Chris, but still. Alone. And now he has to wrestle with that while a slide show of Buck’s every facial feature plays through his head on a likely infinite loop.

He can’t forget as easily as he thought. If he’s honest, there’s a small, hopeful part of himself that doesn’t _want_ to forget, that _never_ wanted to forget, and it’s getting louder and harder to ignore with each passing minute.

“Done!” Buck says as he turns off the machine and wipes away the last of the excess ink. Eddie looks at the finished product, a soft smile settling on his lips. He looks up and sees Buck watching him, looking hopeful. “What do you think?”

Eddie’s finger hovers over a daisy reverently. “It’s beautiful,” he whispers, smile spreading as he meets Buck’s eye again. “Thank you, Buck.”

Buck returns the smile, squeezing Eddie’s hand where they’re still clasped together, neither of them moving to let go. They’re still in each other’s bubble, close enough that Eddie can still count Buck’s eyelashes, and he watches Buck watch him for a moment. His eyes roam his face like he too is cataloging Eddie from here, and that hopeful voice is convincing him that from where they’re sitting, it’d be so easy to lean in and confirm exactly what Buck tastes like, how his lips would feel under his own. Just six inches away from allowing himself to be happy, because he can’t imagine being anything else with Buck.

His phone goes off from his pocket, immediately bursting the bubble, both of them flinching as the loud trill fills the shop. They both know it’s Chris, but he still looks at Buck apologetically, like it’s his fault for shattering whatever atmosphere they’d just been living in. Buck just waves toward the phone, squeezing his hand one more time before letting go to clean up his station. He talks to Chris for a bit, showing him the tattoo from every angle, and Chris talks to Buck as well, gushing about what a great job Buck did. Buck blushes at the praise, and that tug of want pulls at Eddie again.

They hang up and Eddie gathers his things while listening to Buck’s strict aftercare instructions, both heading to the front door so Buck can lock up. 

“Are you sure I can’t pay you?” Eddie asks.

“I told you it was on the house and I meant that. Plus it’s nice to work on someone I actually care about.”

Eddie feels his face get warm, hopes the neon lights in the window are bright enough to cover it up. It gets warmer as they continue looking at each other, neither willing to break their little bubble again. He thinks he sees Buck move more toward him, like he wants to get closer, but he stops himself before following through, leaning back on his heels instead, looking sheepish.

“Goodnight, Eddie. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eddie waves as he leaves, stepping into the cool night to walk back to the apartment. He keeps glancing down at his arm on the walk and while he’s getting ready for bed, thinking of the care Chris and Buck both put into creating it. That small voice in his head keeps nagging him, saying Buck wouldn’t do something like this, something this personal, for just anyone. He complains about his clients enough for Eddie to know that’s true.

Maybe the voice is on to something. As he falls asleep, Eddie lets himself think that maybe, _maybe_ , on top of everything, on top of two years of friendship and flowers and looks that make Eddie’s insides flutter, maybe these feelings he’s been trying to ignore aren’t as one sided as he thought.

Maybe he has a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Q-HqUKVjoM) is the song playing after they take a break from the tattoo if you want the ~vibe~
> 
> come yell at me on [tumblr](https://tylerhunklin.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter where eli threatened to burn my house down so...apologies in advance
> 
> **TW: description of a panic attack**

A few weeks go by, and things are good. Eddie’s tattoo is pretty much healed, and he already finds himself absentmindedly tracing it when his thoughts are too loud, or he feels the wisps of anxiety starting to pull at him. Chris is obsessed with it, fingers roaming it as much as Eddie’s, and he even lets him color it in, just like he does with Buck’s ink.

Buck is good as ever, still in the shop every day, his bright eyes and brighter smile still main players in Eddie’s dreams. Every week, he gives him bouquets confessing his love, a small part of him hoping Buck figures it out on his own, a bigger part knowing he never will. He tells Hen as much one day, and she just levels him with an unimpressed glare.

“He’d figure out your feelings a lot easier if you _talked to him_."

Eddie looks at her, bewildered. “But then he’d _know_."

One day she’s going to roll her eyes so hard at him, they’ll get stuck in the back of her head.

Maybe he hasn’t told Buck everything, but something still feels different between them. Looks feel more charged, hands linger longer, like neither of them actually wants to let go of the other. Maybe it’s because Eddie has stopped fighting his feelings so much, has let them stretch out in his chest instead of keeping them in a ball. It’s not enough to convince him that everything wouldn’t immediately fall apart if he told Buck how he felt, but it’s a little easier to breathe, at least. A little easier to be open and comfortable with his love for Buck, even if he still can’t say as much out loud. When Buck’s eyes dance over his face a little more intensely than normal, he’s not as ripped in half by naive hope and blind terror as he once was. He still thinks he might have the smallest chance, he’s just not sure what to do with it yet.

But, overall, things are good.

Until suddenly, they’re not.

~~~~~~~~~~

He gets the call on Monday for three standing spray arrangements for a funeral the following week. He gives his condolences as he takes down the woman’s info, asking for the funeral home and the name of the deceased to make sure they get to the right place. When she gives the name — Beth Hubbel, her daughter — there’s a spark of recognition. 

He searches for her obituary later, feels his blood run cold when he finds it.

Staff Sergeant Elizabeth Hubbel, United States Army Special Forces. Killed in action in Iraq on her third tour of duty.

They were in Afghanistan together during his second tour. They weren’t friends, but they knew of each other, well enough to nod in passing. And while he’s of course devastated for her family, that’s not what really sets him off. It’s the chilling voice that rises up from the very back of his mind as he reads her accomplishments and the names of the people she left behind, whispering in his ear like broken glass _That could have been you. It_ should _have been you. Why_ wasn’t _it you?_

He hasn’t gone down this hole, his darkest one, in years. That doesn’t make the spiral any slower.

He tries to hold it back as much as he can — for Chris’s sake, for work’s sake, for everyone — but the dam is cracked and the pressure is crushing. The voice never stops, constantly whispering about how he doesn’t deserve any of this, this life he’s built for himself. He had people relying on him, and he let them down, let them die a fiery death in the desert instead of coming home like he’s sure they promised their families they would. Why should he get to live out his dreams when they didn’t? He lies awake at night, seeing nothing but a burning helicopter when he closes his eyes, feels shooting, phantom pains in his shoulder, like the bullet is tearing freshly through it. He’s terrified of the nightmares he knows are lurking in the shadows, waiting for him, so he just stays up. Fights it until the exhaustion smothers him into a quick, dreamless sleep.

He gets worse and worse as the week wears on, pressure pushing on him inside and out, making it hard to move and impossible to breathe. His “normal” facade that’s hiding the cracks takes too much out of him, so he withdraws as much as he can without being suspicious. If people notice something is wrong, they’ll want to help, and this is not something he’s willing to expose anyone to. The toxic gas of guilt is for him alone. It swirls around him everywhere he goes, soaking into his skin and breaking him down until he’s so fragile that the lightest breeze could break him apart if it blows the wrong direction.

They notice. He knows they do. 

Hen mans the front desk single handedly, swoops in to greet customers before Eddie can muster the energy to walk out of the back room. Buck chatters even more about his clients when he visits, filling the silence that surrounds Eddie like a vacuum. Even Chris snuggles closer to him during movie night, his warmth the only thing Eddie registers as he stares listlessly at the TV. 

They don’t pry, and he’s grateful, because that’s exactly what he wants, but he also feels like screaming. He’s face to face with the walls he put together with his own hands to protect the people he loves, and all he wants to do now is tear them down. They’re keeping the murky water in as it rises and rises, and Eddie can’t swim on his own for much longer.

But he keeps going. He has to. He swims and he stews because it’s not fair for him to ask people to tear down the prison he built for himself.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the last delivery of the day on Friday, and it takes every ounce of mental and physical energy he has to keep his hands steady and enter the funeral home. The funeral director shows him to the room, already decorated with pictures of Beth in and out of uniform, Army crests, an American flag draped over the closed casket.

He tries to keep his focus only on the flowers as he sets them up, but his eyes keep drifting to the pictures — Beth smiling with her platoon, with her parents, kissing her wife on their wedding day. She was _someone_ , she’d had a whole life ahead of her, and she was gone. When Eddie was overseas, he had a marriage falling apart, a son that barely knew him, and no plans for a future when he was back on U.S. soil. And he survived. How is that fair?

He finishes setting up, hands shaking because he’s running out of strength to keep them still. He stands by the casket, contemplates kneeling and saying a prayer. It’s been a while — he’s not sure if he remembers how to, or if anyone is even listening. Would they do anything if they could hear him? Does he deserve to have his prayers answered, even if they’re for someone else?

He just places his hand on the flag instead, whispers, “I’m sorry,” and all but bolts out the door to the truck. He turns the AC all the way to cold, turns the music all the way up, tries his best to drown his senses before they can drown him.

It’s not enough. 

By the time he makes it back, the shop is dark and empty. He has a text from Hen letting him know she closed up early and took Chris home with her for a sleepover with Denny. He leans against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, no energy to even make it up the stairs to crawl into bed. His mind is a hurricane, loud and destructive, and he’s feeling so much that he can’t feel anything at all, he’s just numb. 

There’s a soft knock on the back door, and Eddie peels himself off the ground to answer it, figures it’s Chris coming back for a video game. He tries to ignore the winds picking up in his head, the whispers that seem to be getting louder, schools his face into something normal before opening the door.

It’s not Chris, though. 

It’s Buck. 

He’s got his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and he looks nervous, shifting his weight from side to side. He looks up at Eddie as the door opens, and they just stare at each other, long enough for the storm to keep brewing, strong enough now that Eddie doesn’t think he’ll be able to hold it off much longer.

Buck clears his throat, scratches the back of his neck. “Hey. I, uh— you’ve just seemed really off all week? And I saw you walk in as I was leaving and I just...you looked wrecked. You still do.” His eyes scan over Eddie’s face, like he can see right into him, see the water getting closer and closer to covering Eddie completely.

“Are you okay, Eddie?” Buck asks. 

No one’s asked him that in a long time, and he hasn’t asked _himself_ that in even longer. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to figure out the best way to articulate himself that isn’t just an incoherent scream. He feels hot tears fill his eyes that he’s somehow held off until now. It’s too much — the memories, the storm, Buck looking at him with genuine concern in his eyes. His body crumples, finally giving into the pressure, but Buck’s arms are around him before he hits the floor, strong and secure. The scream comes out, sobs quickly following.

He holds onto Buck like a life raft. 

Buck maneuvers them to the ground, and holds Eddie tightly, hand rubbing up and down his back, through his hair. He’s shushing him quietly, whispering things Eddie can’t hear as he lets everything go, lets the storm rage on in hopes that it’ll dissipate quickly and with minimal damage. 

It’s minutes or days later when he finally runs out of tears. His throat hurts, his face feels puffy, and he feels the dampness of Buck’s shirt from where his face was pressed into his chest. He leans back slowly where he’s sitting in between Buck’s legs, hands scrubbing his face as he takes a few deep breaths. He’s never broken down like that, especially not in front of someone else, and he’s exhausted and embarrassed and just wants to run away, hide in his bed for the weekend or the rest of time.

Buck, however, shows no signs of moving. His hands are on Eddie still, one on his back, one on his side, still holding him close while Eddie gets his bearings again. He feels the warmth of them through his shirt, and it feels as good and as safe as he always imagined it would. Still, he keeps his head in his hands for a little while longer, breaths finally evening out. He doesn’t want to look him in the eye yet, doesn’t want to see the pity because he knows he won’t be able to handle it.

When he does finally look up, Buck just looks worried still, tinged with empathy rather than pity. If his heart wasn’t already smashed to dust, it would crack for Buck, too. 

He slowly disentangles himself from Buck until they’re sitting next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the door. He doesn’t know what to do — he wants Buck to stay, he wants to tell him to run, he wants to move on from whatever these past few days have been, fix the storm damage and get back to normal.

He sees Buck turn his head out of the corner of his eye, feels his gaze on the side of his face. He stares resolutely at the floor — maybe if he’s still enough, looks put together enough, Buck will take it at face value and leave while he can.

Of course, he doesn’t.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks instead.

And for a minute, he does. He wants to get rid of whatever walls are still left in his head and let Buck in, let him see every decrepit, rotting part of him because he knows, he _knows_ , that Buck will be able to see past all that. He’ll see the good person that Eddie himself hasn’t seen since he left for the desert, and he’ll be able to coax him back into the light.

It’s only for a minute, though. Because then the whispering comes back, roaring in his ears, reminding him that person is _gone_ , and whatever shell is left is not enough, for Buck or for anyone else.

He still can’t ignore the voices, so he just slowly shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

Buck keeps staring at him, hands twitching before he slowly reaches over the space between them and grabs his hand. “Talking helps, Eddie. It’s a lot better than keeping everything bottled up like this.”

Eddie bristles at that, the same line he’s heard for years. He knows Buck means well, he _always_ means well, _everyone_ means well when they ask him to talk, but no one _gets it_. This is just the tip of the iceberg with Eddie. There’s so much darkness swirling underneath that they can’t see, that Eddie will _never, ever_ let them see. Not his parents, not Abuela, not Chris, and not Buck. Especially not Buck. He loves him too much to poison him like that.

He can feel the walls starting to rebuild now that his brain is back online. He doesn’t want to push Buck away like this, knows the small chance he thought they had will disappear if he does, but it’s for Buck’s own good. He’ll see that one day, he thinks.

He stares at their clasped hands before sighing and slowly pulling away. “You don’t need to worry about it. Really, I’ll be alright.”

“Hen told me about the order for this week, at the funeral home. I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you.”

“Buck—”

“Eddie, please, just—”

“You can’t help me,” he says, louder than he means to, as he finally looks Buck in the eye.

Buck looks startled for a minute before his jaw sets, his eyes hardening in determination. “No, I can’t if you don’t _let me_." 

Eddie scrambles to stand, needs to get away from Buck, from his warmth, everything he doesn’t deserve. “I can’t, okay? It’s— It’s too much. _I_ can barely get a handle on it on my own. You shouldn’t have to worry about it, too”

“I think I can decide that for myself, thanks,” Buck says as he stands too, arms crossing.

“I’m serious, Buck.”

“So am I.”

“Maybe I don’t _want_ your help, did you ever think about that?”

It’s a total lie, but he’s desperate. He’ll do _anything_ to steer Buck away from this. His anger, his sadness, it’s out in the open now, curling around the ceiling in tendrils, threatening to suffocate them both. 

Buck freezes, looks like he’s about to keep arguing, but he just deflates instead. He looks at Eddie for another long minutes, and _there’s_ that pity he’s been waiting for. The sadness for Eddie and the mess that he is. _Finally_ , he hears, _he finally figured out you’re not worth it_. 

Buck makes a move toward him, like he did the night he got his tattoo, and Eddie braces for the worst — a slap, a punch, anything to let out the frustration he’s no doubt caused. Instead, Buck just grabs his hand again. 

He doesn’t pull away this time.

“I need you to listen to me, okay?” he says, squeezing Eddie’s hand until he knows he has his attention. “You’re my best friend, Eddie. I care about you and Chris more than pretty much anyone in the world. I won’t force you to tell me anything but...I _want_ to help. I want to help you handle it. All of it.” He lets his hand go and walks towards the door, turning back before crossing the threshold. “Just remember I’m here for you, okay? No matter what.”

Eddie watches the door shut as Buck leaves, and he’s alone, again, still trying not to drown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i SAID i was sorry!!!
> 
> come yell at me on [tumblr](https://tylerhunklin.tumblr.com/)! we're wrappin this baby up next week!!


	5. Chapter 5

As the weekend wears on, Eddie feels more and more like himself. He chalks it up mostly to staying inside with Chris, Disney+, and takeout for two days straight, basking in the unbridled happiness that always seems to surround his son. He knows, though, that a big part of his feeling better is also because of Buck — he’s never had a catharsis like that with anyone, and he thanked Buck by essentially slamming the door in his face as soon as he tried to dig a little deeper. He wanted to help, _Eddie_ wanted him to help, but it was too much and he was too raw, so he just shut down. Defaulted to being closed off as he usually was because it was safe and easy. But Buck is his best friend, one of the people he loves most, and he deserves someone who could be open and honest with him.

Eddie really wants to be that person.

He _really_ needs to apologize.

He tries multiple times, writing and deleting texts, planning scripts in his head but never hitting the call button. The words keep getting jumbled and they don’t feel like enough, don’t feel like they’re fully expressing how much Eddie wants to tell Buck everything, wants to fully let him in, if Buck is still interested. If he’s not, Eddie’s really not sure what he’s going to do. 

He braces himself on Monday, but Buck doesn’t come in. He sees him through the window as he parks and all but falls out of his car, hurrying toward Armageddon. He stops at the front door of the shop, knocks, smiles, and waves, before hurrying off again.

It’s fine. It’s _fine._ He’s just running late.

He doesn’t see him at all Tuesday, but gets a selfie of a sad looking Buck wrapped in a blanket with a mug of tea and a message reading _sinus infections suck ))):_ . He smiles as he tells him to feel better, and things almost feel normal. Maybe this is just how Buck wants to play it — pretend that Eddie didn’t have a complete breakdown and go back to how things used to be, to how _they_ used to be, whatever that was. If that’s what’s going to make Buck happiest and keep him in Eddie’s life, that’s what Eddie will do. He’ll smash all his feelings back into a box and set it on fire if he has to. Whatever it takes to make sure Buck never leaves.

The door above the shop rings on Wednesday morning, but Eddie’s too absorbed in trying to balance the numbers of a recent wedding to notice. A shadow falls over his laptop, and when he looks up, he’s face to face with Buck, backlit in the golden glow of the early morning sunlight, looking like an angel even in his usual all black. Eddie feels his mouth go dry and his heartbeat pick up.

“You know,” Buck says, his smile easy as always, even if his shoulders look a little tense, “you’re pretty cute when you’re trying to do math.”

It’s a knee jerk reaction to roll his eyes and shake his head, and he smiles too as he sees Buck relax. “At least I know _how_ to do math,” he fires back, laughing at Buck’s mock outrage. Just like that, they’re back in their old routine. 

“That’s what I have Maddie for. She’s the brains of the whole operation, and I’m the beauty.”

“What’s Chimney then?”

“He’s dead meat after he let my flowers die while I was gone for _a day._ "

Eddie snorts as he gets the craft paper. “Well, math might be hard, but replacing flowers is easy. Any requests?”

Buck just shrugs, smiling softly at Eddie now. “Whatever you’re feeling.”

Eddie’s been trying to figure that out for the past four days, but it’s so much easier when Buck asks him to do it with flowers. He wraps the bouquet and turns back to Buck, holding the flowers between them like a shield. 

Buck cocks his head, confused. Eddie clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “I’m really sorry about last week. You were just trying to help, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’ve got...a lot of stuff to sort through, and I didn’t want to put that burden on you.”

Buck’s smile gets softer still as he reaches out to hold Eddie’s wrist. “It’s okay, I get it. But I meant what I said — I’m here for you no matter what. However and whenever you need me.” He takes the bouquet from Eddie, holding it in the crook of his arm. “Are these apology flowers to match your apology speech?”

Eddie laughs, trying to ignore the embarrassed blush he feels growing on his cheeks. “I guess so. Yellow roses literally mean apology, purple hyacinth means asking for forgiveness, and red carnations—” _mean something that you absolutely can’t tell him,_ he finishes in his head. He freezes for a second, scrambling for _any_ other reason for including them, before lamely landing on— “They just looked nice.”

Luckily, Buck takes it, no questions asked. 

As he leaves, Eddie feels a weight go with him, feels more like himself than he has in days. Buck is _still here_. He saw Eddie at his lowest and it didn’t scare him off. And while that’s all well and good, it feels fragile and new, like something that could break the minute Eddie tries to make it more than friendship like he still so desperately wants. 

Instead, he resolves to ball his feelings back up in his chest, hiding them away like he’s done for months and months now. He promised himself he’d do whatever it takes to make sure Buck sticks around, and he meant it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The sun is setting as he enters Armageddon, in a surprisingly good mood given everything that’s happened the past two weeks. He makes his way to the back, distracted by trying to figure out what to do with his weekend. Maybe they can go to the art museum Chris has been raving about, look at all the works that don’t make any sense to Eddie but can keep Chris enraptured for hours. Maybe Buck will come along to explain everything.

He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t register Buck and Chris’s conversation until he’s halfway to the table they’re sitting at in the back room. When he does finally tune in, he stops, just out of sight, and feels his whole body start to go numb.

“It says they mean ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Please forgive me’. Is that what Dad said they meant? Was he sorry about something?” Chris is reading from a school library book, the bouquet from earlier this week on the table between him and Buck. 

Buck looks at the flowers, smiling almost sadly, before turning back to Chris. “Yeah, that’s what he said too. We just got into an argument, but gave me these flowers, so it’s okay now.” He turns back to the flowers, fingers playing with a stray stem that had fallen off as they wilted. “What does it say about red carnations?”

Chris flips through the book, eventually landing on the page he was looking for. Eddie braces himself as quietly as he can, because he knows _exactly_ what Chris is going to read. “There’s a lot of meanings for different colors, but it says that if you give someone red carnations, it means you love them and feel something special for them. What did Dad say?”

His sharp intake of breath is completely involuntary, fueled purely by panic. Both heads snap toward him immediately, Chris’s face lighting up, Buck’s looking stunned. He tries to keep his own face as normal as possible, but his eyes feel wild and he’s hot all over and he just needs to get Chris and get _out_.

“Dad! I got a book about flowers from the library so I can know what they mean just like you!”

He really hopes his smile is genuine, because as happy as he is that his son wants to be anything like him, he also feels about 15 seconds away from passing out. “That’s great, buddy. Can you grab your stuff so we can go?”

Chris hops off the chair to pack up, filling the would-be uncomfortable silence with his usual chatter about school, what he’s reading, and what he did with Buck all afternoon. Eddie very pointedly keeps his eyes on his son the whole time, nodding and commentating more than normal so he’s not tempted to look at Buck and completely fall apart. Chris hugs Buck tight around the middle before heading for the door, forcing Eddie to acknowledge Buck without any kind of buffer.

“Thanks for watching him, we’ll see you later, okay?” he says, looking at a spot just over Buck’s shoulder. He doesn’t wait for a response, just rushes out, following after Chris even as he hears Buck call his name.

Surely, Buck will just brush this off. He won’t think twice about why Eddie _actually_ included the carnations and just move on. They’ll be fine, Eddie won’t lose him because of his loud, dumb feelings, and the whole thing will blow over by Monday. He repeats it in his head over and over, willing it to be true.

They’re through the front door and halfway down the sidewalk before Buck catches up with them.

“Eddie, wait!”

Apparently, his force of will is not as strong as he thought.

Eddie skids to a stop, letting Chris run ahead to the store. He closes his eyes and prepares himself, because this is it. The moment he had been trying to prevent for months. He’s off the edge of the cliff, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He takes a deep breath before he turns around.

Buck is watching him. He looks confused and a little worried, and Eddie’s palms itch to reach out and somehow make it better. He jams his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead.

“The carnations weren’t just for show, were they?” Buck asks, slowly, quietly, like he’s trying not to spook a caged animal. 

He could lie. He could tell him they didn’t mean anything, that they really just looked nice. He could deny it over and over, and he knows eventually Buck would give in and let it go. They’d go back to square one where they’ve been for so long that Eddie can see ruts forming in their routine.

He’s so _tired,_ though. Tired of lying, tired of wrestling with his feelings and trying to keep them from cracking his ribs and breaking free. And Buck had already seen him lower than rock bottom, and he _stayed._ Maybe he would stay after this, too.

“No”, Eddie says, shaking his head. “They weren’t just for show. Neither were the gardenias or pink camellias or red tulips, none of them were. You can look them up if you don’t believe me.”

Buck freezes, eyes wide, still as Eddie has ever seen him. And for as much as Eddie is usually a coward, he decides this is the moment to be brave.

“I love you,” he says in a rush. “I’ve loved you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it out loud, so I just gave you love in flowers instead. You’re _everything,_ Buck, to me and to Chris, and I just didn’t want to lose you or scare you away because I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you left. We _need_ you, in whatever way we can have you.”

He can feel himself shaking as he stops talking, face hot with a furious blush of embarrassment, he’s sure. He never stops looking at Buck though, waiting for him to say something, _anything_ , even telling him to fuck off and never speak to him again would be better than silence. 

He waits, and Buck just looks at him with an expression he can’t decipher. He looks and looks, and with every passing second, Eddie feels the world crumbling down around him.

The numbness is back, this time laced with the sting of rejection. He takes a few steps backwards as he feels tears start to prick at the back of his eyes, turning toward the store before they’re too noticeable.

He stops when he feels Buck’s hand wrap around his wrist, holding him in place. “Eddie, _please_ ," he says, sounding close to tears himself. “I— I don’t know what to say, I—”

Eddie pulls his wrist back, Buck letting go without a fight. “It’s fine, Buck. Just forget about it.”

He walks away, tears falling without shame. 

He half hopes Buck follows him. 

He doesn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie is _not_ hiding. He _is_ strategically avoiding.

He tries to process everything over the weekend, but come Monday, he still can’t bring himself to face Buck, to have the talk where he tells Eddie that he just wants to be friends and nothing more. Because he’ll say that, but things won’t go back to normal. They’ll be awkward and stilted and they’ll drift farther and farther apart until they’re no longer in each other’s orbit, practically strangers. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t know what he’d do with himself without Buck, and he really doesn’t want to try figuring that out now.

So Buck comes in every day like normal, and every day Eddie finds an excuse to busy himself in the back room and let Hen handle him. It only takes her two visits to catch on and pry every detail out of him.

“Eddie, I love you, but you’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met,” she tells him when he finishes his story.

“Thank you for kicking me when I’m down,” he says, voice muffled from where his head is pressed to the table. She grabs a hold of his wrist, tugging it until he sits up and gives her his attention.

“Look,” she says. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on in Buck’s head, but he looks about as heartbroken as you do, if not worse. You have to talk to him. If you love him like you say you do, you owe him that much, at the very least.”

She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean Eddie is happy about it. Nor does it mean he’s going to jump headfirst into talking about his feelings like he did the last time. He tried being brave, and look where that got him.

He’s still biding his time (and licking his wounds) when he comes back from a delivery a few days later to an eerily quiet store. It’s late afternoon, when they’re normally busy with people picking up bouquets for date nights on their way home from work, but he doesn’t hear any voices when he comes in the back door or see Hen running around with fistfuls of flowers. He walks to the front and stops dead before he can call out for anyone. 

Buck is there, once again lit up by the sunlight streaming through the windows, standing next to a vase holding the biggest bouquet Eddie thinks he’s ever seen. He looks nervous, biting his lip as he watches Eddie walk closer, no doubt waiting for a reaction. Eddie’s honestly dumbstruck, because not only is it huge, but he immediately registers the meaning behind each flower he sees.

Blue violets for devotion, forget-me-nots for true love, yarrow for everlasting love. Aster, red chrysanthemums, honeysuckle. Rainflowers asking for returned affection and jasmine for love without conditions. They’re all surrounded by moonflowers for dreaming of and hoping for love. The whole thing is an explosion of color and scents and emotions and it’s _beautiful._ Almost as beautiful as the man standing next to it.

“I didn’t know what to say last week,” Buck says quietly, gaze moving from the flowers to Eddie. There’s a blush crawling up his cheeks that rivals any rose or carnation. His smile unfurls like a lily in the summertime. “I figured I’d try speaking your language instead.”

Eddie turns to Buck fully, tries to say _something,_ but the words get stuck in his throat as his mind tries to process the sheer amount of things he’s feeling. He has half a mind to pinch himself, make sure he’s not dreaming, but he knows he isn’t. This is better than anything in his wildest fantasies because it’s _real._

He’s snapped back to the present moment when he feels Buck’s hands on his, slotting their fingers together. Eddie squeezes instinctually, holding on for dear life, because he feels like he’s about to crack again — not from despair this time, but from sheer, unfiltered joy. It only gets bigger when he looks at Buck and sees it reflected in his eyes, too.

“Eddie,” he says, a laugh bubbling out of him like the happiness is overwhelming. “I love you. I love you _so_ much. I think I’ve loved you from the minute I ran into the store for the first time, and it’s been snowballing ever since.” He brings a hand up to Eddie’s cheek, wiping away tears he didn’t even know were falling. He leans into the touch, smile only growing because it’s warm and perfect, like he always knew it would be. “You said I was everything to you and Chris, but you two are _more_ than everything to me. I want to be here, with you, _for_ you, for as long as you’ll let me.”

And because he is who he is, because he’s been living with his parasitic self doubt for longer than anyone should, Eddie pauses. His mind flashes through all his shadows and darkness lingering under this momentary happiness, and while it’s overwhelming and good and true, he still doubts. 

“I’m a mess,” he says, feeling Buck tighten his hold like he’s afraid he’ll try to run. “You saw it up close. I can’t guarantee it won’t always be that bad. Are you sure you want to deal with all this?”

“I want everything with you, Eddie. Good, bad, and ugly. You can’t scare me away that easily. I won’t _let_ you.”

For once, there’s no rebuttal. He knows Buck is telling the truth, feels it in every part of him. If he focuses enough, he swears he feels a little less darkness around him. But there’s so much going on in his head that he doesn’t know what to say anymore, can’t figure out how to express to Buck exactly what all of this means to him. 

He’s still not great at words, but he’s as good at actions as he is at flowers.

There’s no fireworks or angels singing when they kiss, and it takes a few tries for them to stop smiling enough for their teeth to get out of the way. But once they fall into a rhythm, Buck hands on Eddie’s hips, Eddie’s hands running through Bucks curls, the whole world falls away until it’s just them. It’s a slow, gentle thing, but Eddie pours everything he’s hiding into it, hoping that Buck picks up on how much and how deeply he loves him. If the smile he feels on Buck’s lips is any indication, he thinks the message is loud and clear.

They pull away eventually but only to rest their foreheads together, soaking up each other. Eddie’s still smiling as he leans in, placing kisses on whatever parts of Buck’s face he can reach, just because he can. He feels the rumble of Buck’s laugh in his own chest, and almost wants to cry again at the realization that he’s going to be able to feel that laugh whenever he wants, have it memorized and tucked away in his mind for when the darkness is too loud.

He always knew Buck had enough light in him for both of them. Now he gets to prove himself right.

He pulls back a little more, taking in every feature of Buck’s happiness, fingers coming up to gently trace over his birthmark.

“Does this mean I get free tattoos for life?” he asks. Buck’s laugh is sharp and surprised, and they dissolve into giggles and kisses and touches like they're teenagers again.

Eddie knows that it won’t always be this perfect — things will be hard, they’ll be tested again and again, and sometimes things will feel too dark for either of them to bear. But the light will always come back, they’ll grow stronger, blossoming in ways they never could on their own.

Eddie has been hiding in the shadows for too long. Buck is finally bringing him into the sunshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it!! can you believe these boys (': 
> 
> i've got a lot of headcanons for this verse, so i decided to make it a series!! idk when i'll be adding to it but i WILL be adding to it. if you have anything you wanna see, hit me up on [tumblr](https://tylerhunklin.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> thanks for reading!! <3


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